


Ever Onward

by NuclearNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: All Rose wants is to bring a smile to the faces of her family.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 72
Collections: Transfiguration: 2020 Round One





	Ever Onward

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DBQ2020Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2020Round1) collection. 



> Written for Death By Quill 2020. The theme for this round of the competition was Transfiguration and my chosen pairing was Scorpius/Rose.
> 
> A million thanks to my beta, mcal, for their time and help.

Low hanging clouds heavy with rain float just above the earth as if at any minute they might decide to sink, swallowing up everything in their path.

Staring out at the ominous landscape, Rose Granger-Weasley drags the toe of her shoe back and forth along the edge of the stone she stands on. There is a chill in the air, the kind that sinks into your bones and doesn’t let go. 

The view down the hill is obscured with fog, lending the usually comforting view of Hagrid’s home and pumpkin patch a feeling of uncertainty. 

_Ever onward, Rosie._

She hears her mother’s voice in her head, always encouraging her to do better, to _be_ better. When she was younger, she’d found it suffocating, demeaning, as if who she already was wasn’t good enough. But over the years, as Rose became an independent witch in her own right, she saw the intention behind her mother’s words.

_We are all capable of great things, if only we try._

She isn’t sure that what she’s about to do is what her mother had in mind when imparting that wisdom to her daughter, but that doesn’t matter now as she descends the hill.

It doesn’t matter because Rose sees the way George’s expression flickers into sorrow every Christmas at the sight of the stockings hung on the fireplace, each one distinctly lacking the embroidery spelling out _Fred_. She feels the ghosts of grief that lurk when everyone gathers at the Burrow to celebrate the spring birthdays. George always has a smile on his face, but there is a heaviness in the air when it’s his turn to blow out the candles.

If she can alleviate some of that, even just a smidge, it will all be worth it. With her uncle’s birthday coming up, she wants to do something nice for him, something to bring a little light to his eyes.

As she crosses into the forest, the fog clears and the world is no longer softened around the edges, everything standing out in vibrant detail while she reviews her plan in her head.

Studying for NEWTs is not high on Rose’s list of preferred activities. Still, while idly flipping through pages of centuries-old books a few weeks before in a failed attempt to simply transfer their contents to her brain via osmosis, she’d stumbled upon a passage about animating inanimate objects. The process of breathing life—as much life as something _not_ alive could hold—into nothing.

Her mind had lit up at the possibilities, and she dug into anything she could get her hands on, reading about all sorts of charms and curses, eventually concocting the idea for a potion that would allow her to do more than just bring a simple golem to life—she would give it character, imbuing it with personality.

The potion finished brewing, and yesterday she’d popped into Diagon and stopped by the family shop, distracting the teenager behind the till so she could swipe the upstairs key and sneak in.

The twin’s flat remained largely untouched by time, even decades later. Uncle George had long since moved out of the tiny studio to start his own family, and now, it’s a frozen memory of years past. In the small bedroom to the left of the loo, Rose had found what she needed to bring her plan to life. Now, in the shadows of the Forbidden Forest, she pulls it from her pocket, stashed in a baggy along with a small glass bottle swirling with greenish liquid. 

Uncorking the vial, she pulls a single strand of hair out of the bag, dropping it into the little bottle and marvelling as the liquid begins to boil. Holding the glass upright in front of her and inhaling a deep breath of crisp air, Rose steadies herself, shifting her weight from leg to leg and pulling her wand from its hiding place.

 _You can do this._

Moving a few places forward, she pours the contents of the bottle onto the dry earth, watching as it sizzles before calming.

The first words she speaks are Latin, a phrase she memorised last night while hunched over a desk in the library. At the pointing of her wand and a carefully spoken incantation, a small figure appears, conjured from the ground. It is crudely sculpted, unmoving as it stands there in the shadows.

Excitement begins to thrum through her veins, and she reminds herself that this is only the first step, and she mustn’t get cocky.

Conjuring fire from the tip of her wand, Rose watches as bright orange flames engulf the golem, and she raises a hand to shield her eyes. As the sparks dissipate, they reveal a wiggly little statue testing out its arms and legs, smoke still streaming from its bald head.

When it opens its mouth, a voice that she’s never heard comes out. It’s so similar to George’s, though a little different, and she can only presume it’s Fred’s. 

“What do you call a cow with two legs?” The merry little thing points its two stumpy arms in Rose’s direction. “Lean beef.” She can hear the smile in its voice as it speaks, and when she closes her eyes, she imagines she can _see_ the face of her uncle, laughing and happy and alive.

Joy seeps into her skin from her head to her toes. She’d gone into this with confidence, but there is still wonder at having pulled it off.

She’ll be able to present her family with something they’d never thought they’d experience again.

The next spell is more difficult, a modified _Piertotum Locomotor_ that must be cast exactly right to avoid any adverse side effects. She’s been practising it for over a week, and with a whispered incantation, Rose swirls her wand precisely, already grinning with pride over her accomplishment.

But then something changes. The spell doesn’t take, not in the way it’s supposed to, and instead of following her instruction, the figure grows, tripling in size in the time it takes Rose to blink.

The giant before her is clumsy, teetering on unsteady legs as it tromps forward.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she mumbles, trying to walk backwards and stumbling on a rock, arms waving wildly in search of a tree on which to steady herself.

Mind flipping through all possible actions, Rose fires spells indiscriminately at the sentient sculpture, hoping one will stick. 

It grows ever closer, and Rose runs out of defensive spells. Just before the giant swipes at her with its massive clay arm, she sends her Patronus off to the castle with a message for help. When the golem finally makes contact, she falls to the ground, and the sound of her wand snapping is the last thing she hears before the world goes dark.

* * *

A glowing spectre of an Irish wolfhound bounds into Scorpius Malfoy’s dorm, halting at the foot of his bed and interrupting his studying. “Help. Forbidden Forest,” are the words that emanate from the Patronus, and panic fills his chest when he connects that it’s Rose’s voice speaking to him.

Not sparing a thought for anything else, he races up multiple flights of stairs and out the side entrance of the castle, flying down the stone steps and nearly sending himself sprawling to the ground a few times in the process.

He realises what a fool he’s been when he nears the scene, catching sight of Rose passed out on the ground. He frantically digs in his pocket only to discover that it’s empty, and he must now face the marauding stone giant before him with only his fists and wit.

Wandless magic is something they’ve touched on in their studies, but he’s not very confident in it. They’d barely practised; so much could go wrong.

But none of that mattered now, not when a raging, out-of-control statue was tearing up the forest, smashing through trees and into boulders before Scorpius’ very eyes, sending woodland critters scurrying for cover.

Closing his eyes, he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, concentrating on the core of his magic that lies within him, imagining the power as golden threads weaving down his arms to the tips of his fingers. Slowly he raises his arms, palms flat and facing front. Visualising the spell in his mind as a tangible thing he can shove, he pushes forward with his hands and yells, “Bombarda!” 

In a massive cloud of dust, the thing explodes, leaving only rubble in its wake. A few tense seconds pass while Scorpius’ waits with bated breath to see if the mangled parts still have sentience. They don’t, instead lying in a quiet mess on the ground, and the adrenaline that had flooded his body starts to ebb.

With the threat taken care of, he rushes to Rose’s side, falling to his knees. The soft rise and fall of her chest comforts him as he brushes hair out of her face, shaking her lightly to rouse her.

Big, blue eyes blink open, and his breath leaves him in a rush.

_She’s okay._

He imagines the next words out of her mouth will be a declaration of love, or perhaps gratitude to him for rescuing her.

Instead, her sweet mouth opens, and she whispers, “Took you long enough.”

A wry smile curls up his mouth as he helps her to sit, and he glances up at the heavens, wondering what he’s done to end up with a witch as infuriatingly stubborn as this one.

“You took ten years off my life, lying there flopped out on the ground. Never do that again.” 

She smiles softly and nods, but the look in her eyes tells him she’ll be right back to running straight into chaos the first chance she gets. And really, he supposes, that’s what he signed up for. Her wild, fearless soul drew him to her in the first place, all the way back in Third Year when he stopped seeing her as a genderless playmate and started noticing that she was a girl—a pretty one, at that.

Eyes running over her form, he checks for any visible wounds, relieved to find little more than scratches and a few bruises beginning to bloom on her pale skin. She shifts her weight, and he almost misses the wince that crosses her face as she says, “I’m fine, really. I’m okay and I can—” 

He’s guiding her to stand with an arm around her shoulders, but he freezes when she tries to put weight on her leg and barely stifles a whimper. “Fucking Circe, Rose. I think you broke something.” He moves his arm, snaking it around her waist and sliding the other beneath her knees.

A laugh huffs out of her, and she shakes her head as he lifts her into his arms. “You think? What was your first clue?”

“Oh hush, you. You don’t get to be snarky right now because I saved you, and you will let me be your knight in shining armour just this once, understand?” His words come out more assertive than they usually are and her quiet, “Okay,” stuns him. Maybe he ought to try out this confident, self-assured version of himself more often.

The path back up the hill is daunting from this angle, but with no other option, up he goes, stepping carefully to avoid jostling his precious cargo and hurting her further.

“You’re a wizard, you know,” the annoyingly squirmy girl in his arms says as he adjusts his grip, shifting her higher against his chest. “You don’t have to carry me.”

Huffing, he responds, “I left my wand in my room in my haste to find you, and you broke yours, not to mention I drained my magic to blow up that bloody thing, so yes, I _do_ have to carry you, you silly bint.”

Small fingers roughened by callouses trace his jaw, and a slow grin tucks up the corner of her mouth. “Wanker.”

“Do you have an ounce of self-preservation anywhere in your body, Weasley?”

“I nearly got it. It was going to work, Scorp.”

Just as he opens his mouth to lecture her some more, she lets her head fall to rest on his shoulder and sighs. “I wanted it to work.” 

There’s sadness in her voice, and he wonders why, but he’s so well versed in the language of Rose that he knows he’s better off waiting for her to tell him when she’s ready.

“It was a present for Uncle George. I thought I could conjure a golem and temporarily give it Fred’s personality.” Her fingers pick at a loose thread in his robes, and she’s quiet for a moment, the only sound between them his heaving breaths as he marches up the hill.

“I modified Polyjuice and tweaked the mobilising charm, and it worked for a moment. The thing was laughing and cracking terrible jokes; it seemed so real. But something went wrong, and it was out of control and all I could think about was how disappointed in myself I was.”

“Rosie—“

“Don’t ‘Rosie’ me. I failed, plain and simple.”

“Perhaps, but you failed at incredibly complex magic that’s far above your level of skill. There was very little chance that you’d succeed, statistically speaking. Just attempting it is incredible all on its own.”

“You and your statistics,” Rose grumbles, burrowing her cold nose into the exposed skin of his neck.

“Hey! Stick that thing somewhere else.”

Giggling, she defies him by snuggling even closer, bringing her equally freezing hands to twine around the back of his neck. 

“Brat.”

“Tosser.”

When they reach the castle, Scorpius stops for a moment, leaning back against the wall. Rose has shifted in his arms, and her pretty face is inches from his own. She’s hurting, and he really needs to get her to the infirmary, he knows he does, but he can’t resist her tempting mouth for one second longer.

The sounds she makes as she gives as good as she’s getting send a shiver down his spine and heat into his lower belly. 

_Not now._

Reaching deep into the well of his self-restraint, he pulls back, smiling as she mewls in frustration and tries to follow his mouth.

“Later,” he says, trying and failing to hide a smirk when she glares at him in a way that makes him thankful she can’t shoot fire out of her eyes.

With a quick peck to her nose, he heads for the hospital wing, whistling a jaunty tune just to spite her and laughing when she smacks lightly at his shoulder.


End file.
